Monthly Archives: May 2024

All is Right with the World

I’m feeling perkier today. Well, mostly. It’s tailing off a bit now but I have a pot of soup on the go  (tomato, onion, celery, mixed herbs and chilli for those who are curious) so I will eat well fo9r tomorrow’s lunch. I just realised I forgot the garlic. Ah well!

Julia has just returned with three night bags. It has been a complicated story.

After leaving hospital without enough bags, as mentioned in  previous post, I summoned up the energy to find some more.

The Scallop at Aldeburgh

First I rang the District Nurses. As a service they have been trimmed back over the years, but I know they have spare bags and I know they travel in the area so they seemed the logical place to start. I didn’t get the full query out of my mouth before their receptionist gave me a new number to call and cut me off. ten out of ten fro efficiently avoiding work. Nought out of ten for everything else.

The new number was the Continence Service. I know from bitter experience that they are useless, and they failed again. After holding me in the queue at position number three the system told me they couldn’t process my call and cut me off. It then refused to connect me on my next two attempts. Annoying, but nice to have my previous prejudices confirmed. They really don’t do customer service at the Continence Service. ten out of ten for getting up my nose. Zero for Customer Service.

Martello Tower Aldeburgh

Next I rang the Urology Centre and ran into a network of menus giving me different numbers to press. I eventually got through to the PAs of the consultants. Guess what, the one I needed had an automated message telling me there was nobody there to take my call. I’ve probably mentioned before that although I love the urology Centre for many things, efficient admin isn’t one of them.

Next attempt – the Urology ward at the hospital. It took quite a while to connect, but to be fair they are actually doing a job rather than sitting by a phone. The Nurse who answered suggested ringing the District Nurses . . .

When I explained I already had done, she suggested the Continence Service.

Honestly, I’m not making this up.

I explained I had done, and what the result had been.

So she arranged to put some bags into a parcel for me and asked if i was able to travel. I wasn’t, but fortunately Julia was available to solve that problem.

Ten out of ten for the Urology Ward, and ten out of ten for Julia.

 

At Aldeburgh, Suffolk

 

A Day of Doing Nothing

Got up late, did nothing, dreamed in front of daytime TV. I was in Dublin, I lost my trousers in an argument about disabled toilet facilities and after several setbacks I set off to walk home, realising that I had lost my sticks but could walk fine without them. Before you ask, I had my wallet in my jacket pocket and was able to use my driving license to get on the ferry.

I am aware that dreams of lacking trousers may be associated with all sorts of things, but in the dream I had excellent legs and was positively flaunting the catheter. Under-confidence does not seem to have been an issue.

Found three new ways of messing up the process of strapping the bag on. One had uncomfortable consequences, but this is a blog not a medical text book so I won’t add more detail.

Iris at Mencap Gardens

Anticoagulant clinic rang to check on me because the hospital had failed to liaise with them.

Julia has just arrived home. We are now going to have a cup of tea. This is the most interesting thing to happen today if you disregard the uncomfortable consequences mentioned a couple of paragraphs above.

With a day of low activity it is difficult to reach my 250 word target and, even with padding, I am struggling to reach the limit. I have 25 words to go. twenty two now. It can be very difficult writing that sort of sentence because, of course, as you write it, you become wrong as the word count changes.

Yellow Flags

I may be back later because the urge to write could return.

On the other hand, I have poetry to submit and nothing actually finished, with just one day to go before the end of the submission window and nothing finished. This could be my most unproductive patch in the last three or four years.

Iris. One of my favourite flowers.

Crepuscular rays at Rufford Park

Pictures of Water – a Metaphor

Mill on Rufford Lake

The daytime arrangements for catheters can be slightly tricky, particularly for those of us who are a little taller and a little fatter than others. This is aggravated by the inadequacy of the equipment that is provided. How many ways can you think of fitting a Velcro strap through two slots in a bag? Well, you can fit is so the rubberised side that grips your leg is facing the wrong way. You can fix it so that the two Velcro surfaces don’t match. You can fit it so that the whole thing pings back and it all falls off. And finally you can do it so that the bag is facing the wrong way. I suspect that there are others but that was all I had time for this morning after I inadvertently managed to pull the strap off whilst struggling to fit it.

This is all aggravated by the fact that the tube from catheter to bag is not long enough, despite being labelled “Long” and the straps I am using are actually made by fixing two straps together. Also, last time I had a catheter you could get a clip that stuck to your leg and held the tube in place as it made its way from bladder to bag. It was quite useful in ensuring a good fit, but like all useful bits and pieces it seems to have been discontinued.

Dead tree in Clumber Park

Richard Mabey wrote about a stay in male urology. Clare Pooley put me onto it after my previous exploits in hospital. He  put it all in quite spiritual terms and equated the water of the planet to the water in his body. He’s an award winning author. I’m not. I have, as usual, emerged from my brush with the medical establishment with a list of complaints and several anecdotes that are unsuitable for publication.

The good news is that I had six hours uninterrupted sleep. This due to the “night bag” which is bigger than the “day” or “leg” bag, and fills steadily overnight. This means that you don’t have to get up in the night. I had six and a half hours uninterrupted sleep. It was good.

Cormorants at Clumber

However, there are eight nights until I return to hospital and they have only provided me with six single-use bags. This is typical of the lack of organisation in the NHS and is very annoying. The night bag has a long tube on it and you attach it to the tap on the leg bag before going to sleep. The pipe is long enough for you to place it on the floor by the side of the bed. In hospital they have them on stands, but they can actually make life more complicated. I once tied myself up in the tubing and woke in a dream about being caught in a net.

The house – Arnot Hill Park

My Day in Hospital

I will go through this quickly and in chronological order. However, it all went well.

Rose at 5.55, washed, dressed in clean clothes the sat around. I couldn’t have breakfast and I couldn’t have a drink after 6.30 so I didn’t bother. Water, weak squash or tea/coffee with skimmed milk didn’t seem worth the effort. Would a splash of full fat milk be such a problem. I suspect it is ll par of the campaign against proper milk.

Sat round waiting for the taxi, which arrived early. Got to hospital at 7.10 and sat in the foyer because reception doesn’t open until 7.30.

Between 7.30 and 11.30 I was left waiting about as chaos reigned. They asked me the same questions multiple times, tried to tell me I was having a general anaesthetic, which I wasn’t, made me sign several consent forms and forget to take a test to measure my INR (necessary because of me taking Warfarin). Eventually they remembered and the lb then kept me waiting. Meanwhile another Warfarin taker was similarly forgotten but the lab actually lost his results.

Photo by Pietro Jeng on Pexels.com

Because 90% of the staff were brilliant and well organised, I will leave out the 10% that let the side down.

I sat for four hours, hungry, dry, apprehensive and increasingly annoyed by the lack of efficiency. This wasn’t helped when they made me change and I had to leave my books in a locker. So, no reading apart from some magazines and second hand paperbacks. They have taken these out of doctors’ waiting rooms due to concerns over disease transmission.,so I decided not to touch them. I catch enough infections these days without playing Russian Roulette with dog-eared magazines.

Finally, just after 11.30 I was taken through. I’d arranged, after discussion with the anaesthetists, that I was going to have  local anaesthetic rather than a spinal. I assumed that it would still be pain free but the recovery is much easier.

In reality, it wasn’t pain free and I’m not sure if it even worked, but I survived and just over 20 minutes later I was able to get up off the table and walk to the recovery room. If I’d had a spinal they would have been able to cut me in half without me noticing, but I would have been laid in bed for two or three hours as I regained the use of my legs.

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

They gave me tea and toast in recovery, adjusted the catheter (though it still isn’t fitting properly) and I was out by 2.00pm. Unfortunately I had left my keys at home, expecting to be picked up by Julia around 5.00pm. Luckily I was able to contact a neighbour with a spare set and was soon sitting in front of the TV with a cup of coffee and a cheese sandwich.

And that is my day. I regretted my decision to have the local anaesthetic several times while I was on the table but as I walked away under my own steam I started to smile so it was the right decision.

I’m back next week to have the catheter removed.

Twenty years ago this was a four or five day stay in hospital and they removed the catheter before you left.

Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

Six years ago it was a three day job. The first time I left with a catheter, the second, having had to wait three months to get the concluding part of the operation done, they removed it before I left.

This time it was half a day. I have to go back next week to have the catheter out. Much more efficient, but but you have to wonder if the care is as good. Last time I was in several of my fellow patients were admitted to correct problems caused by sending them home too early. It’s nice to be cost effective, and it’s far better to get home instead of being in hospital, but above all, they must save a fortune of feeding us.

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

Watery Rum and a Welshman’s Ear

Some of you will have recognise part of the title, particularly, I suspect, those of you who do cryptic crosswords. Yes Derrick, I’m looking at you.

It may be easier if you recognise the medallions in the header picture. They are easy enough if you have years of sorting through junk boxes, but are more difficult if you don’t. They weren’t the best of quality when they were new, but time has not improved them. The one on the right shows little evidence that anyone with talent was employed in the manufacturing process: the one on the left shows more talent in design and less wear but a modern viewer will still find it tricky. I know what they say, and even then I have trouble reading some of the words.

Admiral Vernon Medal for Portobello – Obv

The admiral in question, Edward Vernon, was nicknamed Old Grog because he habitually wore a cloak made from grogram, a coarse mixed cloth made of wool and silk with a gum stiffening. He was the one that issued the order that all Royal Naval run rations were to be diluted to help prevent drunkenness. It would take a long post to talk about the rum ration, so I won’t. I will just say that Vernon’s nickname became attached to the diluted rum, which became known as grog.

That’s one bit done. How about the next bit? Any echoes of past history lessons coming through? Anyone remember Captain Robert Jenkins? Or the War of Jenkins’ Ear?

Admiral Vernon Medal – Rev

I remember the name of the war, and I remember that Jenkins is supposed to have appeared before parliament and brandished a jar containing the pickled remains of the amputated appendage (sliced off by a Spanish coastguard in the Caribbean) as he demanded retribution. Whether he actually did this or not is a matter of debate, as is the discussion around whether he was smuggling or not. It is a murky area, much like our modern “weapons of mass destruction” debate in the Iraq war.

Eventually, eight years after the incident, King George II issued instructions that reprisals should be taken and Vernon was chosen to be commander.  His naval second-in-command was Commodore Brown, the second figure on the medal with the two men depicted. The “war” was a mixed bag. They famously took Portobello with “six ships only”, in 1739, as the medal says. The victory is commemorated by the areas of Edinburgh and Dublin called Portobello and by the Portobello Road market in London. It also inspired the writing of Rule Britannia!

Admiral Vernon and Commodore Brown Medal – Obv

The expedition also took the port and fortress at Chagres, before moving on to another victory at Cartagena. Well, the medals struck at the time called it a victory. Cartagena was actually a defeat, and a costly one at that.  The Spanish resisted several attacks and then sickness particularly yellow fever, swept through the British forces. By the end of the siege over half the British force was dead or suffering from disease, chiefly yellow fever. The British were able to cope better than some of the newly arrived reinforcements as they already had a year in the tropics to build up some immunity. The “American Regiment” lost nearly 90% of its strength, one of the survivors being Captain Lawrence Washington. On his return he renamed his estate Mount Vernon after his ex-commander, which is how his step-brother George, the revolutionary General, came to live in a house named after a British naval officer.

The British souvenir trade responded with enthusiasm and Admiral Vernon became the most commemorated commoner on British medallions of the 18th Century.  There are over 120 varieties of medallion and they still crop up today – both the examples pictured were bought from junk boxes in the last few weeks.

Admiral Vernon and Commodore Brown Medal – Rev. Note the repaired crack and the broken pin fitting.

One example is very worn,  the other has much more detail, but has been cracked, mended and, at some point, been turned into a brooch. Good examples can make several hundred pounds, but examples like this can be had quite cheaply. One cost me £5 and one was in a bulk lot I bought, which averaged £2 a piece.

I was going to start a regular post called “From the Junk Box” but the junk box is a dying thing and my searches of the last couple of weeks haven’t turned a lot up. To find more junk boxes I may have to travel, and if I’m going to spend more money on fuel it defeats the object of trying to collect on the cheap. I may need a new title. However, when you do find a junk box there is still plenty of history to be had for little money.

Medal on the left is 38mm, medal on the right is 37mm, for those of you who like to know that sort of thing.

This just a brief look at history, but it still runs to over 800 words and doesn’t even touch on the events in Georgia (newly colonised by the British) and Florida, which was still under Spanish control, or Anson’s circumnavigation. So much history, so little time.

 

Hospital Tomorrow

Today is fairly well mapped out, as is tomorrow morning until 7.30 am. I know I have to stop eating at midnight tonight, miss one pill out, add a double does of another and be ready at Urology reception at 7.30 with reading material, spectacles and a dressing gown. I just bought a new lightweight one for hospital use. My normal one is rather bulky and they have stressed I should only take one small bag.

After 7.30, it is all a mystery. I assume it will involve waiting around, a fair degree of embarrassment (why can I never have a hospital visit that involves keeping my trousers on?) and some medical stuff that will definitely, if blogged about, fall into the realm of oversharing. There may be a blog tomorrow, as I’m expecting to be out by the evening, but it will probably avoid mentioning anything medical. Apart from the cannula. I hate them. They irritate me. They are always given to the least competent member of the team to insert (one once took 13 attempts to get it in) and I have never yet had to use one in an emergency. These “emergencies” where you need instant access to a cannula just don’t seem to occur. I suspect they exist only in the minds of the people who wrote the standard operating procedures, and a group of NHS lawyers.

Robin Hood and the warning are from bed curtains at the hospital. I managed to find them amongst the uncaptioned WP photos. My photo library really is a mess. I couldn’t find a cannula picture. I may try to take one tomorrow. Then again, perhaps not. Somehow the time has crept round to 12.16. The day is going and I have a lot of books to sort . . .

Books, books, books . . .

Disorganisation and Disarray

I bought two items yesterday (it doesn’t matter what) and honestly intended writing about them on the blog and the Numismatic Society Facebook page. However, as usual, both of them, when I sit doen and think, need other things photographing as part of tyhe article. Frustratingly I cannot find either of the other pieces that I need. I may have some of the pictures I need on camera card, but finding them will involve sifting through thousands of images on half a dozen cards and being lucky. Both articles, as a result, will be delayed. This is why I don’t get stuff done.

However, as I wrote those words an idea seized me. I now have one of the extra items I require. No all I need is information and inspiration. I have Wikipedia for the former and hope that my new sense of urgency will see me through with the other.

Blue Iris

Despite this stroke of luck I still have a long-running problem. I write about things rather than people and events, and I need to own them, and know where they are, I have been thinking about the ownership aspect, because I have been noticing more and more articles written by people who have borrowed the items to photograph. I actually saw an article where the credits indicated that two dealers had provided all the the photographs, and a small booklet, where all the (impressive) illustrations came from a museum collection. If only I’d thought of this years ago. Of course, “years ago” does take us into the days of film cameras and developing. That was a whole different ball game. In those days dealer’s lists rarely had photographs and auction catalogues had few illustrations (which were all paid for by the vendors). Even eBay, in the early days, had fewer photos, and the ones you used (mainly scanned rather than photographed) had to be uploaded using File Transfer Protocol rather than by today’s drag and drop method.

I remember the time consuming struggle to upload a day’s photographs, and the nervousness at whether it was going to go wrong (again!) and leave you with hours of remedial work on top of all the initial work.

The Good Old Days, as I often have cause to reflect, would be unrecognisable to anyone under the age of forty. I wonder what Jane Austen would have made of it.

Pictures are from past Mays.

Alyssum – grows like a weed and comes back every year. My kind of plant.

Spanish Poppy

Got up, went back to bed, got up again (with an audible expression of pain), sat on the edge of the bed, fiddled with my socks, considered the waste of time that has been my life . . .

Cheered up considerably after a breakfast of Weetabix and berries. Pretty sure I’d have been even more cheerful if I’d had bacon and eggs but I really do have to eat less and become healthy. Checked WP and planned the next part of my day. This consisted of going to the shop, sifting through some junk boxes and chatting to my ex-work colleagues. When your only social life consists of WP and visiting the place you used to work it does rather highlight your lack of social life.

Went home, chatted to Julia, watched TV and performed mental gymnastics. That takes the form of playing chess, Nine Men’s Morris, Othello/Reversi and Sudoku on my tablet. Yes, I have a tablet. One of the kids bought it for me a few years ago. I used it as a back-up Kindle. Then I lost it in a book case for a while (they are very thin and easy to lose), then found it and started using it to read again. A couple of weeks ago ago I decided that I needed to keep my brain active so started playing games on it each night. Just a few, but enough to keep the little grey cells ticking over (I hope).

Tea is cooking now – a pan of roasted vegetables and (in a few minutes) some gammon steaks. This is reasonably healthy, for me if not for the pig.

After eating I will try to do some serious work. I now have very few days left if I am to submit any poetry by the end of the month.

Cheerful picture from may 2016. It all seemed so simple then . . .

 

 

A Time for Action

Julia has just been shopping. The local Sainsbury’s has no parsnips, and what’s more, it doesn’t even have any point of sale material acknowledging the existence of such things. It’s all very worrying . . .

The stupid thing is that aren’t difficult to grow in the garden, it’s just that over the years we have stopped growing veg. We still do a few salad bits and some herbs, and the plums, but it isn’t really a very productive garden. when we move we must do better. It’s a small garden and it is walled, so it will be good for heat retention. The plan is to grow raspberries and have fruit trees against the walls, possibly with gooseberries too. The only problem will be keeping up with the pruning – I will have to keep a diary and make sure I do things at the right time.

The fruit bowl

I have also pulled a book off the shelves I am clearing and will take it with me, it’s about producing a tropical look with plants that are hardy in our climate. It’s something I’ve always been interested in doing, but never got round to. Now, as I’ve said before, is the time to do things rather than think about them.

I have now adopted a “one touch” approach to my book clearing. No more ever-shifting piles as I make excuses and sort constantly. One pile is books to keep. One pile is books to keep for a few weeks, make notes and get rid. The next pile is books where I have people in mind for them. Then there are the piles of books for the charity shop and the pile of books that even the charity shop doesn’t want – damaged, out of date or downright dull.

Time to stop messing about.

Reflected Plums – Victoria

3,333 Posts and a General Election

This morning, when I saw how many posts I had written I was tempted to stop the blog and retire. I have, until I publish this one, a total of 3,333 finished WP posts in Quercus Community.  So soon after writing a 333 word blog this seems like a message from fate.

That message is probably “Stop being an idiot and obsessing about numbers” but you can never tell.

Julia has returned. I can tell an immediate difference as it now takes longer to select a menu. It’s cold, it’s been raining all day, we have a choice of pizza, pasties, quiche or vegetable stew. It can be accompanied by salad or potato wedges and beans or roasted veg. The clue is in the cold and wet – clearly we don’t want salad and gravy does not go with quiche or pizza. Already,  several combinations are not going to work. It’s quiche, pizza or pasties with wedges and beans, or it’s pasties with roast veg and gravy.

Young Nettles

Yesterday, the veg would already be sizzling in the pan. Today it took two attempts and nearly an hour before she finally decided. At this point I remember I have cauliflower and a bag of grated cheese, but decide not to mention it.

We’re also back to watching TV by committee. The Great British Sewing Bee is back for what looks like a lacklustre 10th Season. I didn’t watch it last night because I knew Julia would want to see it and I didn’t want to watch it twice, so we called it up on i-player. This was fortunate because it saved interminable discussions.

Oh, and they have called a General Election. I ought to mention that if I want this blog to be used in historical research by future PhD students. The morally dubious Conservatives look sure to get a drubbing from the  . . .

I’m not even sure how to describe Labour at the moment. They have the ball in hand and the line is in front of them. Will they cross the line to score, or will they fumble at the last minute?

I predict a landslide for the Labour Party, sweeping aside years of Tory misrule.

I predict a Tory resurrection, springing a last minute surprise on a Labour Party that is devoid or charisma and ideas.

I will edit that later. Just after the results are in . . .

At least these snouts are meant to be in a trough